A tale of three brothers
by FRC Coazze
Summary: Three brothers. Three Hallows. One died for power. One died for lost love. One greeted Death as an old friend. The Peverell brothers, you say? No, not really ...
1. Chapter 1

_Disclaimer__: all the__ recognizable characters __and places __in this __story do not __belong __to me but __to J.K.__Rowling and __who __owns the __rights__. __The __places that are not __invented by __J.K.__Rowling__, __the plot of __this story __and__ the __original characters__ that may be presen__t __in it are my possessions__, and thus __my explicit __consent__ is needed __to publish __and__/__or __translate __elsewhere __this story. This story __was not written __for profit __but __for fun__, __no copyright infringement __is intended__.  
><em>_  
>Ok<em>_, this __is crazy__, I know. __It's __a story that __has no __particular reason,__is a __parallel between __the story __of __three __brothers __and __three most important characters in __HP: __Voldemort__, __Snape __and Harry__. Probably it is no more so original now, but when I wrote the original in Italian, several month ago, it was. The story is divided in__ three parts. Three __introspective__ parts about__ the meeting between __the three __characters __and Death._

_I hope __that __you don't find it __too boring._

_This story, as everyone of mine, is a translation of the original one in Italian language. _

_As always, forgive me if __there are __errors __in the story__. _**I'm a ****Non****-native English speaker**_, __I'm Italian__. _

_Well__, __I do not know __what else to say __as an introduction__. __I leave you __to __read__...__See you __at the bottom__!_

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><p>-A TALE OF THREE BROTHERS-<p>

**Part 1**

**ONE DIED FOR POWER**

_So the eldest brother asked for a wand more powerful than any in existence: a wand that must always win duels for its owner, a wand worthy of a wizard who had conquered Death!_

It was his. The Elder wand. The cue of Death. The Wand of Destiny ... it was his. Truly his.

He passed his fingers on the cold dark wood, felt the power tremble in it, anxious to show his power. He slipped his fiery eyes on the stick, he contemplated it ... admired it in all its power in all its obscure glory.

It was his.

Now he was really the Master of the Wand ... no one would dare to stand before him. They would bow. All of them! From the first to the last ... Oh, he would have broken their backs ... they would bend and he would pass over them. They would make their back as a ground for him, for his power and he would have walked upon them. All of them! Followers and opponents.

What were they in comparison to the Dark Lord? What were they? Miserable, rotten mortals! He would live forever, the Wand ... always at his side, because nobody could beat him, nobody could ever take it away from him ... it was his! His!

He had stolen it from the tomb of his late master ... he had not won it, he had taken it away without any glory, yes ... but now it made no difference. His true master was lying in the Shrieking Shack and the Wand was his. He was its master now!

Power was his force. And his power was immense, his magic extraordinary... together, he and the Wand, they would have everything in hand ... the sea and the darkness, the creatures of the forest and the trees ... he would rule over life and death. The hooded Death ... old and miserable. He had power over him ... he would have lived forever! He had conquered Death!

_…a wand worthy of a wizard who had conquered Death…_

He laughed.

Nobody, not even the Boy Who Lived, could stop him now. The Wand had removed that annoying problem. The boy lay helpless and lifeless in Hagrid's arms as they approached the castle. He had swept him away. And soon he would also destroyed his little, stupid friends.

Soon everything would be done.

He enjoyed them. He enjoyed hearing the desperate cries echoing in the courtyard of Hogwarts.  
>Oh, weep. Despair, you vile and vapid creatures … your pain does not touch the Dark Lord, or corrupts the power of the Elder Wand. Weep! Scream! Miserable people of light! Soon you will have to bow down before the power of darkness.<p>

"Harry!"

"He's alive!"

Alive ...

He pointed his eyes, glowing coals, in the fresh green ones of the boy standing before him. Little insolent one. Did he really believe he can defeat the Wand of Destiny? And he was his master! Him!

Blah, blah, blah ... talk as you want, Potter! Your words bounce on the Dark Lord... who cares about love? What matters the silver doe? He would have wiped him out, everyone would have been witness of his triumph!

The power of the Elder Wand was his! He took it from the hands, contracted by the death, of Albus Dumbledore. He had killed Severus Snape! The Deathstick was his!

"I stole the Wand from its last master's tomb! I removed it against its last master's wishes! Its power is mine! "

_… it is the wand that chooses the wizard…_

"The true master of the Elder Wand was Draco Malfoy." Potter was screaming.

Oh, really? And was that suppose to matter? He would deal with Draco Malfoy ... but in the meantime the Wand was his! It was in his hands! And his power would soon have destroyed what arrogant kid ...

And then, Potter has no longer his wand with the phoenix feather, their connection was interrupted. That would be a duel of pure skills ... he would have killed Potter and then he would have make Wand entirely his.

_…with the Elder Wand as his weapon, he could not fail to win the duel…_

"But you're too late."

Pardon?

"You've missed you're chance. I got there first. I overpowered Draco weeks ago. I took his wand from him…"

Oh, Potter! What a wonderful speech!

"I am the true Master of the Elder Wand!"

The eyes of the Dark Lord inflamed, the wand trembled in his grasp. He felt its power alive, squirming through the Thestral hair and the elder wood, make its way up to scratch his white fingers. No! He was the most powerful sorcerer in the world! He was Voldemort! And the Wand ... it knew his power, it felt his as he felt its. It would not have rebelled against his Lord!

_…a wand worthy of a wizard who had conquered Death…_

"Avada Kedavra!"

"Expelliarmus!"

No one could beat the Dark Lord. No one. No one…

The Elder Wand flew high, sleeping from the grasp of Voldemort as the Dark Lord fell backwards. He hit the stone floor, the red eyes empty and glassy, the arms outstretched like still wings.

The hand empty. Empty… grasping no more power. Empty, just white fingers contracted in the void.

_… and so Death took the first brother for his own._

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><p><em>So what do you think? <em>

_Voldemort and Antioch Peverell in this first part. _

_The quotes in italic and the dialogues are from 'Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows' (and I mean the book). _

_Please, leave me some review, ok? Just to tell me if it is good translated or not, you know… if I made some horrible mistakes!_

_See you to next chapter! _


	2. Chapter 2

_Here I am again! With the second part!_

_Well… I don't repeat the disclaimer… it's just boring read every time the same thing, don't you agree? I have already said it in the first chapter…_

_I just say this: remember that _**I'm a ****Non****-native English speaker**_, __I'm Italian__. So there could be some mistakes in the story, ok?_

_See you __at the bottom__!_

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><p>-A TALE OF THREE BROTHERS-<p>

**Part 2**

**ONE DIED FOR LOST LOVE**

_Then the second brother decided that he wanted to humiliate Death still further and asked for the power to recall others from Death._

He got lost. He got lost in those green eyes, fresh, fragrant ... they were his escape, his pardon. While all around him faded to black, he clung strongly to those eyes.

He had loved them. Loved them from the first moment he had seen them. The bright eyes of a girl with red hair, bright irises that kept him close to them, bound by invisible bonds ... invisible but strong. They had been his lifeline in the perpetually stormy ocean of life, in that vastness full of darkness where sea snakes twisted around the body of the unwary men, who dared to cross their kingdom, and crashed them into the depths.

He too had got lost in those uncharted waters ... he had lost sight of the coast, and he had penetrated into the wild and black ocean. Yet that lighthouse had never ceased to shine. It was always there, unchanging, erected on the cliffs with those eyes of fire where his nightmares chased each other by jumping over each other laughing and giggling with their shrill voices.

He had heard their furious cries when the beam of the emerald light forcefully grabbed them and threw them in the stormy waters below. He had heard the sweet melody that flowed from those green rays vibrating in the air like the strings of a harp, but he had never approached ...

There was a time when his own tears blinded him. A time when he had looked to the vastness of that sea of lead with admiration, wondering what dark secrets those waters were hiding, what lost libraries hided in its depths.

He looked to its power with confidence, believing, in his childish innocence, that he could find in it his revenge on a world that had always excluded and humiliated him. It was forwarded to the waters, called by the solemn chant of their Lord ... but when he reached the palace of the great dark Snake, he had found a huge empty room where only feral cries and screams of invisible prisoners floated. And he was trapped in the coils of the Beast ... forced to acquiesce to its wishes.

Then he heard the prophecy … that damn prophecy! He ran to report it to his master and then everything was rushed.

Lily. His Lily ... his princess of fire was no more.

Oh, the great Snake had been defeated, it was forced to exile ... forced to a pale imitation of life ... but it would have returned. Yes, it would have come back to invade with its slick body the halls of its palace, he would have been there, seated on his throne of darkness to meditate ... to prepare the great flood that would have wiped out all his enemies forever.

And Severus had to go back to it ... only, this time he plotted against it, determined to catch it in a network in its own palace.

Yes, he had turned. He had turned his back to the black palace, and he had seen the emerald lighthouse still burning on the cliff.

…_yet she was sad and cold, separated from him as by a veil…_

His Lily was there. Her memory was still there, confident, to show him the way. He would have given anything to see her again ... anything.

Now the time was near. Perhaps now, in that darkness that enveloped him, so different, however, to the darkness of the evil ocean of Miðgarðsormr, he could find his lost love. Maybe now he could hold her again, apologize, release all the tears who had held prisoner in his black eyes.

Death was the only way. Death was the only companion he had left, now ... the only one who could bring him back to Lily.

… _so as truly join her…_

His hand moved frantic to the sweater of the boy kneeling beside him. He grabbed his collar, pulling him closer.

"Look ... at … me…" he said.

Green eyes, Lily's eyes ... his new lighthouse. The coast! He was safe. He did not have to fear the storm anymore ... he would return home from his fiery-haired princess. Miðgarðsormr and his dark kingdom would soon fall ... the hammer of Thor would have befallen them. He had fulfilled his mission, he had protected Lily's son until the end. Now he could go to her.

… _so as truly join her…_

Green eyes met blacks. The eyes of who was and who will be.

… _and so Death took the second brother for his own._

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><p><em>And so this was <em>_the second part.__Severus __Snape and __Cadmus __Peverell._

_Well__, __what can I say__? __Cadmus __killed himself __after using __the Resurrection Stone __to call __from the dead __the woman he loved__. W__hen he realized __that she __could never __stay with him __in his world __he decided to __join her. __With __Severus __is a bit__ different. __Sev __is not as __selfish__... __He __gives his __entire life to __Harry__, __Dumbledore __and __Lily__, __but eventually __dies __for the same reason__: his love. __The love __for Lily __that led him __to seek help from __Dumbledore __to play __a double game __for him __and to protect __the boy __at all costs__._

_I hope __you didn't get shocked reading the __unpronounceable name __of __Miðgarðsormr__! _

_The __Miðgarðsormr __is the huge __monstrous serpent __of Norse mythology__. __He was born __from the union __between the god __Loki and __a giantess__ of whom I don't remember the name. __ Miðgarðsormr's brother was the __great wolf __Fenrir__, who __was chained __by the gods __with a __magical chain__, __from which __Aunt __Jo __took __inspiration for the name __of Fenrir __Greyback. __And his sister was __Hel__, __the queen __of the dead__. __In any __case, __enemy __of __Miðgarðsormr __was __Thor__, __the god __of thunder__, __whom, however__, although he was __able to __capture it __by accident __during a __fishing, __fails to __kill him__._

_Well, __I __turn myself off__!_

_I wait for your reviews! Bye!_


	3. Chapter 3

_Well, this is the end. The third and last part._

**I'm a ****Non****-native English speaker**_, __I'm Italian__. _

_See you __at the bottom__!_

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><p>-A TALE OF THREE BROTHERS-<p>

Part 3

**ONE GREETED DEATH AS AN OLD FRIEND**

_And then Death asked the third and youngest brother what he would like. The youngest brother was the humblest and also the wisest of the brothers, and he did not trust Death. So he asked for something that would enable him to go forth from that place without being followed by Death._

_The boy __must die__._

Those words echoed in his mind like muffled echoes distant, lost, lingering, yet so alive and sharp. They were depraved ghosts wandering among his thoughts, passing between them with a slow grueling.

They were so fatuous, flaccid as if they had not a real reason to exist. They were, and was that verb to give them features and body. They were and they could not be killed simply because they did not live. They were there, lingering, calm, persistent and kept repeating those words in a long, tedious jeremiad.

_The boy __must die__._

It was not a request: it was a fact. He had to die. He had to die so his friends, who believed in him, could live.

The forest around the boy vanished, vanishing in a pool of silence. There was only gray. Only a shapeless fog watching him curiously.

He had to die. He had to meet his own death, the Great Reaper who sees everything and wait patiently for everyone. He knew the last hour of every man and waited, silent, motionless, invisible ... He followed the steps of everyone before reaching out and grab him.

But that time, it was the prey reaching for Him. The boy wondered if He knew he was coming ... yes, He was probably already there, imperceptible, hidden in the circle of Death Eaters, side by side to the one who feared Him so much.

Also the boy who walked in the forest was afraid. Yes, he was afraid. Yet all seemed so calm around him, so placid, silent as if the forest itself was holding its breath as his heart.

He was ready to die.

That stillness that enveloped him was nothing more than the simple peace of mind that already harbored in his head.

He was ready to die.

Why clinging to life when he knew he had no alternative? For what purpose let fear cloud his thoughts? Why? Why being crashed and transported away by a sea storm when he could accept the calm waters of a quiet lake?

The dead reassured him. The dead had done nothing but lighten the weight of fear, snatch it away, away from him.

Why fear Death? You can not escape Him ... Why should you fear what is inevitable?

The only thing you can fear is the way to die ... but if you consciously sacrifice your life for your friends, to enable them to live, to defeat the darkness, then should you be afraid?

Harry knew the answer. No.

There was nothing to fear facing Death. It was just a moment, just a moment ... it existed but it did not exist. It was like the exact stroke of midnight, that tiny fragment of time that belongs neither to today nor to tomorrow. It was nothing. Death was nothing. So why fear Him?

He was ready to die.

The dead were with him. At his side. Always.

Here he was. He was there. The Dark Lord was waiting for him, and beside him a hooded figure was holding out his hand as to invite him ... like an old, patient lord who calls an old friend ...

The dead stayed with him. They were there, ready to embrace him. They were there, right around the corner ... and what was the difficult to do it, to turn that corner? Just a second. Just a moment and he would be with them.

Harry closed his eyes as Voldemort raised his wand at him. He was going to meet Death, he would have welcomed Him as a friend ... as an old companion, yes ... he had seen Him so often in recent times that He was truly become such. He was there now, still, waiting for him ... and he would have gone with Him.

"Avada Kedavra!"

… _and then he greeted Death as an old friend, and went with him gladly, and, equals, they departed this life._

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><p><em>And with this I have finished this short collection of one-shots.<em>

_I guess __that all__ of __you had __already figured out __who would be the __star of __this __last chapter.__Yeah__! __Harry __Potter__, __tied __to __his ancestor __Ignotus __Peverell __and owner __of his __Cloak of Invisibility__._

_I have little __to say because __I think __that the connection __is pretty __obvious: __Harry __accepts his fate__, of course, not knowing __that he would survive__, __and he __go with Death__, __accepting him as __an old friend__...__like __Ignotus __that __attained a great __age__, __left the __cloak __to his son __and walks away __with __Death __as equals__._

_You know a funny thing? Death is a feminine noun in Italian. In fact in the first draft of this chapter I have always used 'she' referring to Death. Luckily I remembered that in 'The Deathly Hallows Part 1' in English, the Death was 'he'. The usefulness of watching movies in English ... XD_

_I hope __that you enjoyed these three little chapters. So… well, it's over._

_THANKS __TO ALL OF YOU __THAT __HAVE __FOLLOWED __THIS STORY__! __THANK YOU__!_


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